Kaelen was not having a good morning.
His new oracle, his secret weapon, his key to unrivaled power, was apparently a useless, complaining mess without her "kaff-ee" and a set of instructions for her pants.
He had conquered three kingdoms. He had faced down assassins and shadow-priests. He had never felt so completely... confused.
"I will ask you one more time," he said, his voice a low, threatening growl. He was trying to get the day back on track. "The Black Sun—"
Before he could finish, the hidden door to his chamber creaked open. The same terrified servant girl from before scurried in, carrying a massive silver tray. She didn't look at Kaelen. She definitely didn't look at Elara. She just put the tray down, bowed, and fled.
This was breakfast.
Elara looked at it. Kaelen looked at it. It was... a lot.
There was a giant, glistening leg of lamb, clearly left over from a feast, sitting in a pool of its own cold, congealed fat. There was a loaf of dark bread that looked like it could be used to build a wall. And there was a small bowl of grey, lumpy porridge.
Elara, whose idea of breakfast was a latte and maybe a piece of toast, felt her stomach turn.
Kaelen ignored the food. He was a man of focus. "The Black Sun," he said again, his patience wearing thin.
Elara was a woman of survival. And she was starving.
"Okay, okay," she said, her voice weak. "Just... let me eat first. Maybe my 'oracle' powers work better with food."
She tore a piece of the lamb. It was stringy, tough, and tasted... gamey. It tasted like a wet goat. She tried to chew, she really did, but she ended up discreetly spitting it into a napkin.
She tried the bread. It was like biting a rock. A salty rock.
In the heavy, oppressive silence of the room, Elara's stomach, which had been ignored for too long, finally spoke up.
GRRROWWWL-GURGLE-RUMBLE.
It wasn't a quiet sound. It was the sound of a small, angry bear dying inside her. It was loud. It was rude. It echoed.
Kaelen froze. He stared at her stomach.
Elara's face went bright red.
"Right," Kaelen said, clearly deciding to ignore the demon noise. "The Black Sun Empire. Their tactics—"
"I can't!" Elara burst out, slamming the hard bread back on the tray. "I just... I can't. I am starving, and this," she pointed at the tray, "is not food! This is an oil-slicked brick and a bowl of... of... sad, grey sadness!"
Kaelen was now officially angry. "That is mountain-fed lamb! It is the best in my empire! That bread is baked with salt from the royal mines!"
"It tastes like a carpet!" Elara shot back, all fear forgotten, replaced by pure, unfiltered hunger. "I need real food. I need... comfort food. I need..."
The craving hit her. The memory of her life at the museum, working late nights, the one thing she always turned to.
"Oh, god," she moobled. "I need ramen."
Kaelen stopped. "...What?"
"Ramen," she said, her eyes suddenly shining with a desperate, holy light. "Raa-Men."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. He stepped back. "Is that... a god? Are you praying to a god named 'Ramen'?"
"It's not a god!" she said, getting to her feet. "It's... it's soup. It's perfect, hot soup. With... with noodles... and a broth... and... oh, just broth. I need broth."
Kaelen was done. This was a circus. "You will eat the lamb, or you will starve," he commanded. "Now, tell me what you know."
Elara looked at the greasy lamb. Then she looked at the tyrant. She had just given him a military victory that saved his entire northern border. She had some power here.
"No," she said.
Kaelen looked like she had just slapped him. "No?"
"No," Elara said, crossing her arms. "I won't. I can't. My 'oracle' brain is offline. It is on strike. If you want to know how to save your empire, you will take me to your kitchen. I will make it myself."
"Absurd," he growled. "You are a hostage. A secret. You will not leave this room."
"Then I guess I'm not an oracle today," Elara shrugged, sitting on the bed. "Good luck with the Black Sun. I hear they're really nasty. Hope you figure it out."
She was bluffing. She was terrified.
Kaelen stared at her. Elara stared back, trying to look bored, as if her stomach wasn't trying to eat itself.
This was a standoff. The fate of the empire, hanging in the balance, against one woman's craving for noodles.
The tyrant's jaw muscle clenched. He knew, with a growing sense of horror, that she was serious. And he knew, which was worse, that he needed her.
He let out a sound. It was a low, animalistic growl of pure frustration.
"Fine."
He stormed over to a hook on the wall and ripped down his own cloak. It was a massive thing of dark, heavy wool, clasped with his scorpion sigil. He threw it at her. It hit her with a thwump and completely buried her.
"Cover yourself," he snarVled, his voice a low hiss. "All of it. Your face. Your strange hair. Your man-pants."
Elara peaked out from under the mountain of wool. The cloak smelled... surprisingly good. Like him. Dry wind, leather, and something metallic.
"And you will not speak," he continued, his finger jabbing at her. "You will not look at anyone. If you make a sound, I will not cut your tongue out. I will cut out the tongue of my Head Chef for hearing it. Am I clear?"
Elara nodded, her eyes wide over the edge of the cloak. This was much better than the itchy dress.
"Good," she whispered, pulling the hood up and vanishing into the shadows of the fabric.
Kaelen looked at her, then up at the ceiling, as if asking the gods what he had done to deserve this.
"Follow me," he growled, pulling open the secret door. "And pray to your 'Ramen' that this is worth it."